Circumstances
by NorthernTrash-x
Summary: Usagi/Misaki. Circumstances had made all this happen. Now he supposed that he would just have to live with it.


Usagi x Misaki

**Circumstances**

"_I know, I know, I know, it's so, it's so sy-sy-symbolic of everything  
__Everything that's wrong with me and you, so tell me what I'm supposed to do?  
__Oh, it's been ages since we've been really honest  
__But I can make ch-ch-ch-changes- if you really want this"  
_Ben's Brother

There were too many problems between the two of them, and Misaki knew, despite not wanting to know, that on occasion it was all just too hard.

Sometimes, he wanted to give up, and then he hated himself for feeling like that, for not appreciating everything he had. Because even though there were days when the hassle got to him he knew now that he really did love Usagi- loved him more than he was able to deal with most of the time- and that he probably always would do, even if that was only because Usagi would probably tie Misaki up and force him to love him if he ever stopped.

Even so, that did not make things any better. There were moments when it seemed that love was enough to overcome everything else, moments pinioned outside of time and normal life where he could take Usagi's hand or kiss him and forget his own embarrassment, times when his love was so strong that it felt like some sort of fire that might burn him up unless Usagi came and made it okay again. Those were the good moments, the times when all he wanted was for the older man to hold him close and make nothing else matter in the whole world.

But then the rest of the time he was just awkward, floundering, still not quite certain how to act and what to do. Usagi was very good at consoling and devastating him all in one touch: at lifting him up only to make him feel entirely weak in the next moment.

Sometimes he felt a little bit broken by all the attention, but when he wasn't around, Misaki only missed the incorrigible, older man.

It didn't make any sense.

It never did.

Circumstances had conspired against him, he could see that clear enough. He cooked and he cleaned like a pretty little housewife, the time that he had always imagined that_ he _would have one day, not _be._ Usagi wined and dined and kissed and touched him, pulled him close for heated embraces and long, lingering caresses and knew the exact way to make Misaki blush. And he _could_ make him blush, and turn him on with ease, even though Masaki was certain that he had never wanted to be with a man, and definitely not a man like him. Not a bad-tempered, over-possessive writer whose life was governed with improbable rules of his own, anyway.

Misaki started as the door to Usagi's study opened wide, and the man who was currently occupying his thoughts emerged from the shadows, rubbing his eyes. He had been holed up in there for the whole of the Sunday, and in the meantime Misaki had cleaned the house top to bottom, been out shopping, done all his work and now was just sitting, waiting, like some idiotic kid wanting attention but not really knowing how to ask for it. Not that he would ever admit that he wanted to see Usagi, or anything.

Misaki resisted the urge to scold him for not turning the light on as it had gotten dark, since though he knew it would only made Usagi's head hurt more if he had to strain his eyes he could also tell that Usagi didn't really need to hear that right now, and wouldn't listen to him anyway. He was attractively ruffled, clearly exhausted, hair standing on end from where he had obviously been running his hands through it, eyes shadowed and shirt undone.

He turned to look at Misaki, who felt his face heat up in a blush underneath that heavy gaze. Misaki found himself hopelessly flustered, even though Usagi hadn't said anything or implied anything and hadn't even moved towards him or tried to touch him.

"Misaki."

He blushed, he floundered. How did Usagi make his name sound that way, sound so thick and meaningful and heavy? He never wanted to turn out like this, never wanted to let anyone have so much control over him.

He should be resisting, but… but…

But, he thought, he _wanted_ this, and it had taken him too long to admit that to anyone, including himself. Misaki said nothing, but his heart was in his mouth. He looked down at the carpet, and hoped that Usagi wouldn't notice his discomfort. He still always felt so floored when situations like this came about: he was never sure how to beat down his embarrassment. Usagi stood in the centre of the room as he lit a cigarette and sighed to himself, though Misaki could not see his expression, eyes still firmly fixed on the floor. Usagi did not come any closer whilst it was in his hand but he took long drags on it as Misaki tried to sort out his head, berating himself internally as he tried to force his legs to work, his arms to work, anything to work...

Seriously, he thought to himself, I've lived here for longer than I care to remember, and Usagi still has this effect on me? Surely that's not fair?

He supposed that a lot of the time they went three steps forward and two steps back: Misaki tended to put off the inevitable with their relationship. Every time it looked like Usagi might say something that would make his chest tighten, he would try and steer away with a joke or annoyance or running off to do some chore or another. And though most of the time Usagi would follow him and say it anyway and they would end up doing something embarrassing like having sex on the living room floor or something, Misaki never felt too upset about it when the moment was passed.

Because, although it was hard, it always felt good, too.

Usagi loved him. He really did love him. And didn't that make it all worthwhile?

The man in question finished his cigarette and stubbed out the end in one of his irritating novelty ash trays that Misaki had failed to accidentally destroy on several occasions. Stretching upwards, Misaki heard his joints click and winced in sympathy.

"Misaki," Usagi said again, only this time it was more questioning and he held his arms open to the other, warm and ready for an embrace.

Misaki stared at them, refusing to let his eyes drift upwards towards his face, because he knew that if Usagi that that strange, sad expression he wore sometimes when he knew Misaki wasn't going to come to him, then he knew he would find himself standing, going towards him, blushing furiously as he did so. Though a flustered heat was already building on his cheeks he bit down the urge to run and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

"Ah, I still have to..."

He trailed off at the sound of Usagi's sigh that tightened his chest. He stood, but resisted the urge to rush into that embrace. It was just about the only thing he could do to distract away from his own embarrassment. Before he had a chance to do anything else, to think anything else, he realised that his feet had already taken him against his will to the older man.

Arms were around him. Hands slipped underneath the hem of his shirt to rest on his back, and they were so, so warm. He heard words whispered against the shell of his ear and sighed.

Misaki knew that he thought far too hard about their relationship. He knew he panicked about it and messed it up and ended up upsetting them both without meaning too.

He knew that, by anyone's expectations, it really shouldn't have worked between them.

Sometimes though, he had to remember that he loved Usagi just as much as the wayward and irresponsible writer loved him. And whenever he thought that, he had to remember that, in the end, it was always enough.


End file.
